As You Wish
by WickedForGood13
Summary: Bilbo wakes from a nightmare about the Battle and turns to Thorin for comfort; D/s elements.
1. Chapter 1

Thorin held Bilbo aloft, the hobbit's legs dangling in the air. "Go! I cast you out of Erebor - and no friendship of mine goes with you," he hissed, spittle hitting Bilbo in the face, who flinched as if Thorin had struck him with his fists. "Go, and never return - or suffer the consequences on pain of death."

"Please, Thorin - don't do this," the Halfling begged. "I love you."

"Vile betrayer - what do you know of love? After stabbing me in the back..." Thorin shook his head in despair, and Bilbo had a moment's hope that the gold fever would leave his mate's eyes, but his hope was all for naught. Thorin's features hardened once more, and he shook Bilbo so fiercely that the hobbit's teeth rattled.

"Don't you understand? I took the Arkenstone to save you!" Bilbo pleaded with Thorin to see reason. "I didn't want you to throw away your life and the lives of your company over a bit of cold, hard rock. What good would your treasure be to you if you were all dead? It's not as though you could take it with you - where you'd be going, I mean."

This gave Thorin pause, but his eyes soon flashed dangerously again and he extended Bilbo further over the ledge, threatening to drop him onto the rocks below. It was only Gandalf's timely interference that saved Bilbo, not that the hobbit thanked the wizard for his meddling. Guilt was already settling in his stomach like a tightly-coiled knot, and he would gladly die if only Thorin would look on him with kindness once more - just one glance, and then he could die a happy hobbit.

Bilbo was soon distracted from his melancholy, though, by the arrival of Orcs, Goblins, and Wargs, all of whom wished to wage war against Thorin and his company. Bilbo had now found a purpose again: to fight alongside Thorin and to ensure his survival. Nothing else mattered but that Thorin lived; even if the dwarf-king never spoke to him again, at least he would be _alive_.

And so Bilbo fought, slashing at any passing creature that was not Man, Elf, or Dwarf and thrusting his sword into the underbellies of Wargs as he struggled to reach Thorin's side. Along the way he passed many members of the company, even helping out on occasion, such as with Fili and Kili, who were each so caught up in covering their brother's back that they forgot to watch their own. At last, though, Bilbo reached Thorin.

But he was already too late.

The Dwarven King had been struck down by Azog the Defiler, and was currently gasping out his last breaths. Falling to his knees, Bilbo crouched down by Thorin's side, his little hands ghosting across the planes of the mighty ruler's chest that was spattered with blood, both his own and that of his slain enemies.

"Thorin -" Bilbo whispered desperately, his voice catching on the simple name that had come to mean so much to him over the course of their journey together. "Please, don't leave me. Not now; not when our lives were only just beginning. Please..."

But Thorin could only gaze back at Bilbo with hatred, a look of pure and utter rage on his face.

"Look what you've done," he whispered hoarsely, blood trickling out of the corner of his mouth and down his chin to land on Bilbo's hand. "You - you did this to me; this is your fault. My hatred of you knows no bounds and has no limits. A curse upon you, Bilbo Baggins, for stealing both the heart of the mountain and mine own."

As he fell silent and his breathing slowed, his eyes turned accusingly towards the hobbit. And in that manner, Thorin Oakenshield, King under the Mountain, died.

* * *

Bilbo shot upright in bed, his heart pounding in his chest and his breathing labored; sweat soaked both his nightshirt and the sheets around him. He looked wildly about, his eyes finally falling to rest on a pair of cerulean blue orbs staring back at him.

"What were you dreaming about, little burglar?" asked Thorin kindly.

"The... battle," Bilbo gasped, eyes downcast in shame for what he still perceived to be a personal betrayal against his chosen mate, even almost a year after the fact.

"Bilbo," Thorin whispered, inching closer to his Halfling and cupping the Hobbit's chin in his hand, and thus drawing his gaze upwards so that their eyes were level. "I'm perfectly well, I promise you. Bilbo, you have nothing to feel guilty for. You acted from the heart to protect me and mine. You're a hero, Bilbo Baggins."

"I don't feel much like one," Bilbo admitted. "I don't even know now what I was thinking when I took the Arkenstone."

"You were trying to save me from myself, to prevent a massacre," Thorin crooned, having shifted closer until Bilbo was resting between his legs, the Dwarven king's arms wrapped securely around his consort's waist. He leaned back against the headboard of the bed, taking Bilbo with him; Bilbo twisted around until his head was resting over Thorin's heart, the steady beat doing much to settle his frazzled nerves as his pulse gradually slowed and the adrenaline remaining from his dream faded.

Thorin sang softly in Bilbo's ear, a familiar tune that the hobbit had first heard in the Shire: "Far over the misty mountains cold, to dungeons deep and caverns old; the pines were roaring on the height, the winds were moaning in the night; the fire was red, it flaming spread; the trees like torches blazed with light..."

Sighing contentedly, Bilbo sank further back against Thorin, a tender smile tugging at his lips as he recalled that long-ago evening he had spent holed up in his bedroom, the dwarves' haunting melody drifting down the hallway to his straining ears and effectively lulling him to sleep. But the hobbit soon grew discontent and turned around to straddle Thorin's thighs, lightly grasping the braids in his beard and tugging the dwarf-king closer for a bruising kiss.

When they drew away, a look of understanding passed between the two, and Thorin nodded his head minutely, though a touch of sadness remained in his eyes. While Bilbo knew that Thorin forgave him whole-heartedly for the Arkenstone incident, he nonetheless occasionally sank into a depression and required reassurance that Thorin still cared and hadn't cast him aside in favor of another lover and consort, one who wouldn't betray Erebor's leader for any reason, even to save his life.

Thorin pulled Bilbo to him for one last sweet kiss, probing the other's mouth with his tongue, before roughly tearing the Halfling's nightshirt from off his back, the sound of ripping material filling the tense silence that had settled over the room and its occupants. Bilbo now sat perched precariously on Thorin's lap, completely naked, while Thorin remained fully clothed. Abruptly, Thorin twisted around, flipping their positions so that Bilbo lay spread out on the bed before him. Thorin descended, then, his kisses demanding, almost punishing in their intensity as he lavished attention to every crevice of Bilbo's body, pausing to tweak the hobbit's nipples and drawing a cry from his lips that was half-pleasure, half-pain. Then again, that was the whole point of this exercise, Thorin mused - to test Bilbo's endurance as penance for his having taken the Arkenstone from its rightful owner.

Wrenching suddenly away from Bilbo, whose flushed appearance was driving the dwarf-king to distraction, Thorin quickly divested himself of his clothes and returned to the bed.

"On your hands and knees," he ordered gruffly, the first words he'd spoken since this encounter had begun.

Bilbo readily complied, though Thorin noted how he was already trembling and knew that he wouldn't last long, not that Thorin would either, for that matter. These couplings, despite the pain they inevitably brought, were always fierce and over too soon. When Bilbo had first come to Thorin with his rather-dubious - if not down-right shocking - request, Thorin had been unable to deny his mate; all he had insisted on was that they not face each other. If Thorin were to hurt Bilbo, then he refused to do so while looking in his eyes.

Taking his place behind Bilbo, Thorin carefully stretched his mate's entrance, though he took less time than he ordinarily would to prepare Bilbo to accept his considerable girth. Aligning his cock with Bilbo's tight hole, Thorin thrust in without warning. A startled cry escaped, unbidden, from Bilbo's lips, despite his best efforts to maintain a stoic silence as he always did during these couplings; he never wanted Thorin to regret agreeing to such terms as he had set. Sometimes, though, he could not prevent his sounds of discomfort. However, this was what he wanted, and he would suffer the consequences. While Thorin was always repentant for his actions, despite being at Bilbo's own behest, the hobbit merely brushed his concerns aside, repeatedly assuring him that he was fine, whether the king believed him or no.

Caught up in his thoughts, Bilbo was surprised to feel Thorin wrap a hand around his own weeping erection, the other firmly gripping his waist with enough force to leave bruises, and all while pounding into him at a relentless pace. The pain was exquisite; Bilbo relished it, even as tears coursed silently down his cheeks. He wanted more... he deserved worse than this for having betrayed Thorin, despite whatever the dwarf-king might say to the contrary. Bilbo wouldn't accept that Thorin had forgiven him until he forgave himself.

"Come for me, thief of my heart," Thorin whispered in Bilbo's ear.

With a deft twist of the dwarf-king's wrist, Bilbo came in spurts across Thorin's hand and the sheets that surrounded them. Thorin had yet to reach completion, though, and so he continued snapping his hips sharply against Bilbo's arse, the sound of flesh hitting flesh the only other sound breaking the silence, apart from their harsh pants. With a guttural cry, Thorin released his seed inside of Bilbo, collapsing against his back before sliding out of him and padding across the room to fetch a cloth to clean themselves with. Bilbo, meanwhile, had remained on his hands and knees, having yet to receive Thorin's permission to relax his aching muscles.

"At ease, Bilbo," Thorin called softly to him. The response was instantaneous, with Bilbo falling face-first into a nearby pillow, clearly exhausted. Giving his own body a perfunctory swipe of the cloth, Thorin turned his attention to Bilbo. Dipping the cloth in a bowl of lukewarm water, Thorin gently swiped the material across Bilbo's buttocks, being mindful of his still-tender hole, before carefully turning the hobbit over onto his back and cleaning his stomach and softened cock. Next, he tended to Bilbo's neck and chest, which were littered with love bites. Thorin had a perverted sense of satisfaction at seeing Bilbo undeniably marked as _his_, though his next thoughts were inevitably filled with shame for taking pleasure in Bilbo's pain.

Bilbo, for his part, lay unmoving and unresponsive to Thorin's ministrations. He felt hands tenderly cup his face - hands that could just as easily wield an anvil or a sword - and a tremor shot through his body, borne of both trepidation and excitement.

"My dear burglar," Thorin whispered as he reverently lowered his head to kiss Bilbo's plump lips, his hands never once ceasing to caress his face and wipe all trace of tears from his cheeks. Climbing back into bed, Thorin gathered Bilbo into his arms, holding him close as his fingers glided soothingly over Bilbo's bare skin, eliciting a shiver of desire from the hobbit in question. "Why do you insist that we do this?" asked Thorin gently after many moments of silence.

"It's hard to explain," Bilbo began hesitantly. "I'm not sure if I can put it into any words; it's more just a feeling that I get from having you take me in such a way. I know you've said that you forgive me, but I'm not sure if I can accept that until I've forgiven myself. And maybe I think that if you take me hard and fast enough times I'll eventually believe that this is for real."

Rather than respond with words, Thorin merely wound his arms further around the slighter man, clutching Bilbo tightly to his chest in an effort to infuse the single embrace with all the love that he felt for the Halfling and which he could admit to feeling since Bilbo had saved him from Azog while on the quest to reclaim Erebor. Kissing the nape of Bilbo's neck, he settled down to sleep.

"Whatever it takes, Bilbo," he whispered into the ensuing silence, "I'll prove that you have nothing to feel guilty for. I'll help you to find forgiveness, one way or another. I swear to you."

Bilbo mumbled something unintelligible, already half-asleep, and melted further into the safety of Thorin's embrace. He knew that in the coming days Thorin would spoil him more so than he already did, as would the rest of the company, who would sense that something was wrong with their burglar. What no one knew or understood was that the attention did more to help Bilbo heal and find peace than anything else might - even taking Thorin's actions in the bedroom into consideration. Bilbo's depression was only temporary, after all; being pampered made him feel valued in a way that he often forgot he needed. And, he thought, as he felt sleep pull him under, wasn't that what everyone most desired - to be wanted?


	2. Chapter 2

Thorin held Bilbo aloft, the hobbit's legs dangling in the air. "Go! I cast you out of Erebor - and no friendship of mine goes with you," he hissed, spittle hitting Bilbo in the face, who flinched as if Thorin had struck him with his fists. "Go, and never return - or suffer the consequences on pain of death."

"Please, Thorin - don't do this," the Halfling begged. "I love you."

"Vile betrayer - what do you know of love? After stabbing me in the back..." Thorin shook his head in despair, and Bilbo had a moment's hope that the gold fever would leave his mate's eyes, but his hope was all for naught. Thorin's features hardened once more, and he shook Bilbo so fiercely that the hobbit's teeth rattled.

"Don't you understand? I took the Arkenstone to save you!" Bilbo pleaded with Thorin to see reason. "I didn't want you to throw away your life and the lives of your company over a bit of cold, hard rock. What good would your treasure be to you if you were all dead? It's not as though you could take it with you - where you'd be going, I mean."

This gave Thorin pause, but his eyes soon flashed dangerously again and he extended Bilbo further over the ledge, threatening to drop him onto the rocks below. It was only Gandalf's timely interference that saved Bilbo, not that the hobbit thanked the wizard for his meddling. Guilt was already settling in his stomach like a tightly-coiled knot, and he would gladly die if only Thorin would look on him with kindness once more - just one glance, and then he could die a happy hobbit.

Bilbo was soon distracted from his melancholy, though, by the arrival of Orcs, Goblins, and Wargs, all of whom wished to wage war against Thorin and his company. Bilbo had now found a purpose again: to fight alongside Thorin and to ensure his survival. Nothing else mattered but that Thorin lived; even if the dwarf-king never spoke to him again, at least he would be _alive_.

And so Bilbo fought, slashing at any passing creature that was not Man, Elf, or Dwarf and thrusting his sword into the underbellies of Wargs as he struggled to reach Thorin's side. Along the way he passed many members of the company, even helping out on occasion, such as with Fili and Kili, who were each so caught up in covering their brother's back that they forgot to watch their own. At last, though, Bilbo reached Thorin.

But he was already too late.

The Dwarven King had been struck down by Azog the Defiler, and was currently gasping out his last breaths. Falling to his knees, Bilbo crouched down by Thorin's side, his little hands ghosting across the planes of the mighty ruler's chest that was spattered with blood, both his own and that of his slain enemies.

"Thorin -" Bilbo whispered desperately, his voice catching on the simple name that had come to mean so much to him over the course of their journey together. "Please, don't leave me. Not now; not when our lives were only just beginning. Please..."

But Thorin could only gaze back at Bilbo with hatred, a look of pure and utter rage on his face.

"Look what you've done," he whispered hoarsely, blood trickling out of the corner of his mouth and down his chin to land on Bilbo's hand. "You - you did this to me; this is your fault. My hatred of you knows no bounds and has no limits. A curse upon you, Bilbo Baggins, for stealing both the heart of the mountain and mine own."

As he fell silent and his breathing slowed, his eyes turned accusingly towards the hobbit. And in that manner, Thorin Oakenshield, King under the Mountain, died.

* * *

Bilbo shot upright in bed, his heart pounding in his chest and his breathing labored; sweat soaked both his nightshirt and the sheets around him. He looked wildly about his bedchamber, but he was alone. Well, not entirely. His nephew, Frodo Baggins, slumbered in the next room over, Bilbo having recently taken him in after his parents were drowned in a boating accident.

The elderly hobbit welcomed the company, having been alone for the past forty years since the conclusion of the quest to reclaim Erebor. Forty years of solitude spent doing little more than contemplating the mistakes he had made and what he might have done differently, whether or not Thorin and his heirs might have survived had he turned left instead of right or vice versa.

Frodo was a source of comfort for Bilbo - or 'Mad' Baggins as he was often called in the village. His recurring nightmare of the Battle of the Five Armies as it had come to be known, while not the whole truth, resembled reality enough to threaten to send Bilbo spiraling back into the depression he had suffered from upon first returning to the Shire.

In those first months, Bilbo could hardly be bothered to get out of bed. Reclaiming his belongings that had been auctioned off had proved to be only a temporary distraction. With nothing better to occupy his time, Bilbo soon found himself wandering his many empty rooms, thinking back fondly to the night a group of Dwarves had tumbled through the threshold of his smial - particularly of a lone Dwarf who had gotten lost on the way.

But such thoughts did more harm than good in the long run. Dwelling on the past did little to help Bilbo heal from the emotional wounds he had suffered in the aftermath of battle. Still, there was little he could do to stop his mind from wandering. Before the quest, he had prided himself on being a Baggins of Bag End. That prestige mattered little to him now, not when his one love was buried beneath layers of impenetrable stone, never to see the light of day again.

Bilbo was withdrawn and quiet now, even more so than before he had gone off on an adventure. He took pleasure in using the considerable wealth from his share of the treasure to spoil the community of Hobbiton, especially the children, who enjoyed the trinkets he gifted them with, having no idea of the true value of the pins and other baubles that Bilbo had in his possession. But he spent none of his money for his own comfort, denying himself as penance for having so grievously betrayed Thorin. Better he should suffer and perhaps atone for past mistakes, though little good it would do _now_: now that the damage had already been done; now that his heart had already been brutally torn from his chest and ripped to shreds; pierced by the same arrows that had robbed Thorin of his life.

Thorin, the only one before whom Bilbo would have bent his knee and who he would willingly call his king...

Gandalf visited when he could and offered what comfort he thought that Bilbo would accept, which was little. In all honesty, Gandalf was nothing but a bitter reminder of Bilbo's past life from before the quest and what he had lost as a result of the quest. Over the years, though, Biblo's resentment had waned somewhat, in large part due to Frodo's fondness of the wizard.

On the night of his eleventy-first birthday, Bilbo was in high spirits for the first time in more years than he could recall. He set off for Rivendell with a spring in his step and a smile tugging at his lips as he thought of what Thorin might say had he known where Bilbo was headed to live out the rest of his days. As it turned out, though, Bilbo did not end his days in Rivendell. Having carried the Ring for many years, he was granted special permission, as was Frodo, to sail with the Elves to the Undying Lands.

Bilbo was torn. He had often dreamed of dying and wondered what followed, whether or not he would be reunited with Thorin. To be deprived of that chance stung, however slim it may have been, and regardless of the circumstances and honor he was being accorded. On the other hand, he didn't want to send Frodo to the Undying Lands alone, without a familiar hobbit face to look upon. Though Sam would most likely be granted permission to journey to the Undying Lands as well, that journey would not be for many years. Bilbo would not leave Frodo alone during that time, to suffer as he had after Thorin had been taken from him. He would not wish such pain and loneliness on his worst enemies, even the Sackville-Baggins.

His choice made, Bilbo walked steadily up the gangplank, supported by his nephew's reassuring weight. As the ship set sail, Bilbo stood at the prow, the salty-sea air stinging his face and awakening some sense of adventure in him that had been buried with Thorin. He looked down at his hands, which had been clenching the railing, and was startled to discover that they were no longer spotted and wrinkled, but young and strong again. He turned to find Frodo staring at him in amazement.

"Uncle, you're young again!" he exclaimed.

"Why, so I am," Bilbo mused.

"Of course you are," said Gandalf in that self-satisfied way of his, a knowing smirk tugging his lips upwards in the semblance of a smile. "When traveling to the Undying Lands, you are returned to the age at which you were the happiest - your true self."

Bilbo nodded and turned his attention back to the horizon, pretending, if only for a moment, that the ship was really taking him to Thorin, that they would be given back the chance to live happily ever after that they had been denied before.

"Fool of a Took," Bilbo muttered to himself, cursing his fancy for giving him hope when none existed.

He stood at the prow for the remainder of their journey, staring off into space and completely ignoring his present surroundings. Rather, he was remembering the past, and the many adventures he had experienced while seeking to take back Erebor for the Dwarven Company. The best adventure by far, though, had to have been in loving Thorin, though they had not admitted their feelings for each other until deep in the forest of Mirkwood. For some reason, speaking of such emotions in the dark was considerably easier than by the light of day. And having their feelings already out in the open did much to ease the tension of their next encounter, when Bilbo eventually came to free the Dwarves from their Elven prison. The night spent in Laketown was the first and last time that the two had consummated their love, and Bilbo cherished the memory all the more for its singularity.

In what seemed to be no time at all, the ship was coming in to port and docking at the shores of Valinor. Elves were gathered to greet the newcomers as the ship's passengers descended the gangplank; lanterns lined the dock and lighted the path to land. Bilbo and Frodo hung back, waiting until the others had disembarked. At long last, though, it was their turn. Gandalf went first, beckoning for the Halflings to follow. Once they had reached level ground, the Elves, both those new to Valinor and those not, inclined their heads in a show of respect and parted to let Bilbo pass, thus revealing a ragtag group of Dwarves that looked discomfited among the Elves.

Bilbo stood frozen in shock. His eyes must be deceiving him. What was Thorin's company of Dwarves doing in Valinor of all places?

"Bilbo!" exclaimed Fili and Kili in tandem as they ran forward to embrace the former burglar. As if their actions were a signal of some sort, the rest of the group rushed towards him until Frodo could no longer see his uncle for all the Dwarves clamoring for his attention.

"For Mahal's sake, give the Halfling some air before he collapses in a dead faint again," commanded the familiar voice of a mysterious newcomer, and the Dwarves parted to reveal Thorin standing on the outskirts of their impromptu reunion.

Detaching himself from the company, Bilbo walked forward until he was standing directly in front of Thorin. He then knelt at the dwarf-leader's feet and whispered, "My king."

Whether he would have spoken anything more became moot when Thorin abruptly swept him up into his arms, crushing the hobbit to his chest so that breathing - much less forming words - became nigh on impossible.

"You should not have mourned me for so long, my dear one," he murmured softly in reply. "I never blamed you for my death. I was blinded by the gold fever. Can you ever forgive me?"

"I forgave you years ago," Bilbo admitted.

The two stood in each other's embrace much as they had on the Carrock all those years ago, completely oblivious to their surroundings. As such, when one or both turned to address their companions, they were surprised to discover that they were alone. Smiling sheepishly at each other, they joined hands and walked slowly along the beach, close enough that the waves lapping the shore occasionally splashed Bilbo's feet.

Passing a curve in the shoreline that shielded them from the view of any passers-by, Thorin drew Bilbo into his arms again and proceeded to ravish his mouth. Bilbo returned Thorin's kiss with equal passion, tugging relentlessly until they were both lying on the ground. When Thorin tentatively reached for the buttons to Bilbo's shirt, the hobbit stilled his movements.

"Please, my king," Bilbo whispered breathily, "Waste not your time on pleasantries when I have waited over fifty years for this."

"As you wish," Thorin replied in his grave manner that even death had not eradicated. So saying, he tore the clothes from right off of Bilbo's back, buttons popping with alarming alacrity. Thorin then turned his attention to Bilbo's breeches, tugging them off in one swift motion until Bilbo lay naked under him. "You are glorious," he whispered reverently, bending to devour the hobbit's mouth until he was writhing in desperation.

"You, too," Bilbo panted, gesturing for Thorin to remove his clothes.

Hurriedly, Thorin did so, turning to discover Bilbo already on his hands and knees, waiting impatiently to be penetrated.

"My, aren't you eager?" Thorin chuckled.

"Please, Thorin," Bilbo pleaded, sounding close to tears. "I need you to take me - _now_."

"But why?" asked Thorin, perplexed at Bilbo's sudden urgency.

"I'm not sure myself, so don't ask," Bilbo said, hating the need to lie but deeming it necessary.

"As you wish," Thorin said again. Though their first time together had been many years previous, Thorin still remembered the care he had taken to prepare Bilbo. Yet now the Halfling seemed to not require preparation. Still, he wouldn't enter Bilbo without any warning; he wasn't heartless or cruel, after all. If Bilbo needed to be taken hard and fast, then Thorin would oblige him, however much it grieved him to do so. He had hoped that their next coupling would be tender and sweet. Not that their first hadn't been; but with the looming threat of the dragon Smaug, they had hardly been able to take their time and enjoy the experience.

"Are you ready for me, Halfling?" asked Thorin, growling low in his throat after only a few minutes spent finger-fucking Bilbo's tight hole. His only response was a needy whine, which he took to signify Bilbo's consent. Thrusting sharply forward, he pounded into Bilbo's arse, enjoying the feel of Bilbo clenching around his cock. It wasn't long, then, before he was close to reaching his climax. Wanting to come with Bilbo, he reached a hand around to grasp Bilbo's neglected erection, while his other hand continued to grip Bilbo's waist with a bruising amount of force.

"Come for me, my burglar," he whispered in Bilbo's ear.

With a high-pitched keen, the hobbit released his seed in spurts onto the sand and coating Thorin's hand which was still stroking his cock. Watching Bilbo come sent Thorin over the edge, and he soon followed after his burglar, coming inside Bilbo with a roar that was better suited to the battlefield. As Thorin sought to come down off of his orgasmic-high, he remained crouched over Bilbo, his cock still sheathed within his heated hole. Eventually, though, he roused himself enough to pull out and help Bilbo crawl to the edge of the sea and wash himself.

"_Now_ may I ask why you wanted me to do that?" he asked gently, reaching out a hand to cup Bilbo's chin and turn the hobbit's face towards him. One look in his eyes, though, and he read the truth. "You still haven't forgiven yourself." It wasn't a question, but Bilbo nodded in reply anyway, miserable. "Oh, Bilbo," Thorin sighed, shifting closer until he could comfortably wrap his arms around the now-shivering hobbit.

"I'm sorry," Bilbo whispered, burying his face in Thorin's bare chest. "Living without you was... the hardest thing I have ever done. I know we spoke before you... passed, but you were on your deathbed. That hardly counts as a proper conversation."

"And you've been living with the guilt all this time," Thorin murmured.

"Yes," Bilbo replied quietly. "While you made peace with me, I hadn't made peace with myself. It was torture, knowing that you perceived my last actions to be of betrayal. I used to dream of the battle, you know, and every night I saw you bleed to death before my eyes, cursing me with your last breath."

"Oh, Bilbo," Thorin sighed again, holding the hobbit, if possible, even closer. "That's all over with, now. We're together, and nothing will ever separate us again."

Thorin's words eased Bilbo's aching heart, at least somewhat, as had this initial coupling. He hadn't originally imagined Thorin taking him in such a way; rather, he had pictured them in bed together, with sweet and loving words exchanged before Thorin finally penetrated him. Reality, though, was pleasant in its own way, and Bilbo would never regret requesting that Thorin rut with him like a savage beast. The thought of doing so again excited him, and Bilbo found himself looking forward to future couplings. There was still some healing to do, on both their parts, but Bilbo and Thorin were well on the way to achieving their own happy ending that had been reduced to mere legend.


End file.
